Prison of Thought
by Night's Flower
Summary: She is not having a nightmare, part of her will never leave this place. Rukia was not completely freed from her prison when she was released, and it haunts her now.


**Prison of Thought**

* * *

Part of her is still sitting in the jail cell of division six.

Her own brother wrapped the collar around her neck.

His icy hands left her skin chilled, she fought not to shudder.

Her childhood best friend restrained her wrists.

There was no need though; she had no will to fight.

She didn't turn to see which of them actually locked her in, she didn't want to.

ooooo

The collar burns. It chokes off her recovering powers, causes another bruise to blossom on her painfully battered spirit. Ever since she lost her powers, Rukia realized, she had the distinct feeling of being burned. With a determination she hadn't known she still had, and a composure she doubted she could keep for long, she does not scratch at the wretched thing.

She remembered the stories of prisoners driven mad by the restraining collar, fits of insanity caused by being cut off from part of their souls. Rukia couldn't blame them. Not when she had to resist from tearing her throat bloody, if only to bring some sort of relief.

She waits there, forever wondering what the man who she called brother was thinking. Reflecting on her sins she waits there as darkness whispers in her ears. Hanataro visits her sometimes, with a timid smile and ears eager for a story from her life. Desperate as she for the companionship of another she obliges. At times he tells tales from his own life, in that soft voice of his, she listens with rapt attention. He's lonely too, she realizes, and in that same moment she sees how similar they are. In her mind she wonders if she is not damning him by providing him with this temporary relief from loneliness, but she ignores the thought.

Because she is selfish.

And she is lonely behind the bars. She hates the small room, and the imposing bars that bare their teeth at her every time she gazes at them. She turns her chair around. The wall, a faceless thing, does not sneer at her, it is merely there, no different than any other room. Eyes crawl on her neck, the instinct that tells her not to have an empty space at her back persists uncomfortably. But, she tells the instinct, it isn't an open space; it's a prison.

The place is musty and quiet. Every sound echoes, clatters back to her, the ghost of sound still trapped with her, it scurries into her eardrums. The air itself smells and tastes much the same.

Sometimes Rukia thinks that if she pretends hard enough she can believe that if she turned her head there would be no bars.

ooooo

The small space makes her want to scream.

Bunched in a corner the room she breathes and grabs desperately at the collar around her neck, it's choking her. In the center she is on her island, on her chair, the illusion of some sort of civility given to a prisoner as if the charade is indeed important to anyone. Yet even there, as she looks down to examine her small fists she feels probing wisps of ensnaring tendrils wrap around her middle, they crawl behind her ribs and wrap around her pounding heart. The bars need only to snarl with their teeth to restrain her limbs. Her throat trembles, desperately wanting to scream, at least sound could escape. Her fingers curl in tighter into her palms. For some reason Rukia is consumed by the sudden urge to rip out her ribs, if only to rid herself of the tendrils in her soul. Morbidly, she entertains the thought that if she was to tear herself to pieces, the room would seem larger. Because no matter how small she knows herself to be, the cell is suffocating.

At night she whispers curses to herself, words melding into the fabric of her robe as she brings it up to her mouth so as to muffle the sound of words and tears. Part of her hopes it can muffle her thoughts too.

It doesn't.

She allowed it to beat again, that damnable thing called a heart. In some part of her mind she blames the humans for taking her icy hands and breathing life into her once again. She shouldn't have done that, now she is back to her reality. Imprisoned here in the land of the dead.

ooooo

No one visits her.

No one visits the prisoner, but they come to seek what they wish to see.

Sometimes a red-haired lieutenant will come to gaze at the pretty bird in the cage.

He whispers softly, asking the bird if she can still sing.

She is searching for the boy from the dusty streets, not the lieutenant who stands before her now.

She does not want to see the man who willingly swings his sword and draws her blood, not when she missed the boy so terribly. She tells herself not to be so crushed when the boy shimmies his way to the surface, only to fade away again.

The day after Renji comes she laughs. It's raspy and cruel, jagged enough to slice her throat and nearly brings tears to her eyes. It is no different, she realizes, than how I've been living for the past few decades, and before that as well. For most of her life, actually.

No one dares-wants-to approach her.

Because of her brother, yes.

But more so because of her.

She is unapproachable and she is alone.

ooooo

She sits in the tower too.

Her soul is pounding and aching as she stretches her senses past the wretched collar, past the spirit leeching stone trying to feel the lives of those she cares for being slashed down.

She huddles, hating how any contact and even proximity to the sekki sekki hurts her already battered spirit, then she laughs because it doesn't matter.

The sound is not even strong enough to echo, the cage is too big. She hates all this space, it gives the stupid illusion of freedom. The air that pretends to be open (but she knows is not) rustles and swirls in the tower. It probes at her sides and teases her hair. Too much space, she feels exposed and vulnerable. The wind scurries up her spine, and Rukia feels as if it could snatch her from the earth on a whim if it so wished, or crush her easily with a thick pillar of wind and force if it wanted.

It howls lowly and hisses that she will die, but not before those she cares for do. Rukia knows that she does not need to see or be told to agree.

Because behind her lids and in the blanket of night she sees their limp bodies and empty eyes staring blankly at her from the darkest of shadows. In her sleep she sees them alive, only to be killed. In her nightmares she screams, and falls on her knees. Sickeningly warm blood splashes on her face, dribbles down her front, stains her clothes, her hair, and paints her shaking hands. The taste of iron spills over her tongue; overwhelming the flavor of salty tears and cold rain, she gags through her sobs.

Every night it is her sword that tears through them.

ooooo

She calls to the birds from the tall window, and they faithfully answer as they always have.

That is one thing that has never changed about her, Rukia reflects somewhat happily, she has always had a special way with birds. She whispers apologies for not having crumbs but they tweet sweetly in reply, hopping on the ledge, but unwilling to come inside. She doesn't blame them. She stretches her hand through the opening, a slender finger brushing up against the soft feathers of the delicate creature. Some fly away in fright, but others happily hop onto her finger, their little claws digging into her flesh.

She relishes the sensation of something real and physical, not just the spiritual bleeding that the wound in her soul is crying for, something that is not the blood that she cannot see being drank greedily by her stone prison. And certainly not the eyes of friends that she fears dead because they had foolishly tried to save her. With that thought flashes of orange haired humans and a young quincy with glasses flashes through her mind, a sweeping medic accompanies them in the image. She sighs, even worrying about those vying to kill her. They have done nothing wrong, they are following orders. A tattooed and red-haired lieutenant and a glimpse of white kenseikan and cold eyes float through her thoughts.

She is the only one at fault, she thinks sadly, it is her hands that are stained red with blood.

ooooo

Leaning forward through the opening she looks to the ground that is so, so far below. She breathes out slowly and a movement resembling a smile reaches her face. If she wanted, the prisoner realized, I could jump. Her form is lithe, she could slip through the opening just as easily as the birds.

She has lost a considerable amount of weight during her captivity; she knows it would be too easy to slip through the opening.

The thought slips away, interesting but not appealing because there was no point. The faces and names of people like her captain, her brother, her friends, and even her dead lieutenant cross her mind.

"_Never die alone"_

They would be ashamed. And, if she were to be honest with herself, she would be too. She almost laughs at the thought that she still dared to harbor even a ghost of dignity.

Her amethyst eyes slide up from the bird to the thing that is to take her life, the Sokyoku. In her many hours of observation she has come to the conclusion that it does not look very imposing, but instinctually she knows that it is right to fear it. Especially one in her position.

But slowly, she finds the fear ebbing away. She is not afraid of death, and Rukia is finding it more difficult to find something to live for the longer her imprisonment and the bloodshed lasts.

The bird grows bored and after one last chirp it flies away in a soft flutter of life and wings.

ooooo

Rukia wakes one night from a dream of ice and snow and nearly cries out to a sword that is no longer there.

She pounds her fist on the hard floor, the pain vibrating through her weakened body. She coughs, because she is not one for tears. But still she grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut willing herself to forget.

Forget the dream, the memory, the blade of her soul.

_Sode No Shirayuki_

Her soul is being bled to death, and in a few days time it will be incinerated.

A strangled sound escapes her throat and she grabs her head, kneeling so that her forehead touches the ground. She bites her cheek until the taste of iron fills her mouth, washing away the memory of the sweet flavor of frost. Rukia sighs, body going limp in resignation. She twists to her side so that she may stare up at the endless ceiling.

She is a child of winter, a soul of ice, a being of snow.

The worst death for one like her is by flame.

ooooo

As Rukia waits for death she is bombarded by the spiritual pressure of her dying friends. Every time her dulling senses detects them she can't help but to hope that they will live, even if she knows that this hope will only hurt her later. The thought that she will soon be dead herself does not ease her troubled heart. She can't help but to turn towards the slim vertical window, her face catching the soft warmth of the dying sunlight, of course she can't see them from here; but their reiatsus are just a little bit easier to sense from here. Troubled plum colored irises peak from the window, hope fights with despair in her gaze.

She discovers a disturbing pattern in their reiatsu.

They flare up strong, like a firework, burn like a flame, throb like a heartbeat, then sputter until they are blown away like a candle in the wind. Rukia sits in her prison trying to catch the dying embers through the window.

"_Please"_ she thinks, begging whatever force there is to listen.

There is a mysterious burning behind her eyes and a painful pounding in her heart.

"_Please don't die…"_

ooooo

Her body jerks, the motion forcing her awake. She's breathing heavily, and she feels as if she has a fever, a thin layer of nervous sweat coats her skin. As much air as she forces into her lungs she can't seem to breathe, and there are spots in her vision. Blood pounds in her ears to the rhythm of her racing pulse. Adrenaline that has no place at this time of night in searing through her veins, her senses expand.

As her eyes adjust she finds herself staring at a simple wooden ceiling. She brings a hand up to her neck; long fingers meet the flesh of her throat without complication. Her hand lingers over the skin, the memory of a life strangling collar fresh on her mind. It's powerful enough to almost make it reality on her body. She sits up, forcing her hand from her throat, she takes a calming breath, or attempts to at any rate. It sounds much more like a shuddering one to her. She clasps her hands together, even in the dark she knows that they're trembling…

"Rukia?"

She starts at the sound; it's Byakuya, speaking through the door. In her distraction she had not sensed his presence at all, even though she has come to expect and dread his appearance. His voice is hushed and low as to not disturb the night. Her voice catches in her throat for a moment and another passes before she is able to shake it loose.

"Nii-sama?" she calls back, her voice comes out more timid than she intended it to be. Inwardly she curses at the fact. Outwardly, she quickly gets up to slide open the door. The first thing go greet her sight is his night clothes, her eyes barely level to his torso, slowly she brings her gaze upwards as to see his face. For lack of something to do her hand remains on the door frame.

The air is crisp, but the taste of morning is already ghosting through the air. The dew on the grass was already in their last hours of life. The sky is still dark; the stars are still shining prettily.

Unsurprisingly his face is as expressionless as ever when she looks, but there is something else that she has still not adjusted to.

He is looking at her.

Not over her head or past her form like all the times before. His smoky grey eyes are looking distinctly at her, taking in her appearance, her form, her expression and her eyes. Even if they sometimes flicker to some unseen memory, at some familiar feature that he remembered on another, it is a change. His eyes focus on her, and their intensity still catches her off guard. She does not know what to say, what he wants her to say; but thankfully he speaks for her.

"Your reiatsu is troubled" he says, the natural subtle sharpness that imbeds his words does little to put her at ease. She expands her spiritual senses, finding that he is, of course, right. Her reiatsu is pulsing, responding to her upset emotions. This is not a first time occurrence; this has all been done before. It is practically routine for them, their words already scripted with only minor variations with each repetition. This performance is no different than the previous ones, yet with each one none of her uncertainty disappears and the intensity of his presence never fades.

She reigns it in quickly, the flaring of her aura is quickly smoothed over. The renewed control calms her slightly, feeling the cool icy nature of her powers is something she will never take for granted again. Her musings are broken when a minimal nod of approval from her brother gains her attention. "I'm sorry for the disturbance, Nii-sama" she says quietly, she has said this many times. He looks down at her, grey eyes meeting amethyst she is struck by the clarity she sees in them, when before she only saw dismissal and mildly veiled distaste. Maybe, she wonders mildly, those are things she imagined seeing.

He makes a sound that resembles a sigh "Think nothing of it" he responds, a usual response. His eyes narrow and he looks as if he wishes to say more, but he doesn't. That is something that has made itself more and more prominent each time, but whatever it is it has still not reached the point that he will voice the thought. Rukia looks away, wondering if she is supposed to say something. He usually leaves by now, but the last time he had lingered for a moment, perhaps this was the case now too.

She swallows thickly and nods at his words, and when she blinks the echo of clashing swords and the clinking sound of a locking jail cell rings in her head. This is something that is not supposed to happen until after he leaves, that is the routine. It shocks her more than she would admit. The sudden assault of memory surprises her, she stiffens, a feeling of cold and heat assails her all at once. Her fingers clenching around the wooden frame of the door, the texture of the wood helps to anchor her to the present, even as the past grabs at her so violently.

Her actions do not go unnoticed. "What's wrong?" he says sharply, more so than he intended. He too is aware of the divergence from script. Byakuya's stance shifts, his back –if possible-becomes even more rigidly straight, he seems to have become taller.

"Nothing" she says quickly in a near whisper, trailing off. She sighs and allows her eyes to slide off to the side, unsure of where she should look. She forces her body to relax, despite the still instinctive tenseness she adopts around the man in front of her. Mentally, she begs him to leave, to resume to the familiar, but it is a half-hearted wish.

A sudden impulse causes her to speak again, to stray from the beaten path, and she does not fight it "My imprisonment" she says heavily, the words may as well be foreign with how out of place they seem in their supposedly rehearsed interaction. "I was remembering my imprisonment" A cold silence blossoms between them, and if she were to look Rukia would find Byakuya's expression had changed slightly; an unnoticeable loosening of his features, the lowering of his brow, the slight clench in his jaw, the surprise that showed itself in his eyes.

The nervous ball that had made itself at home in her chest cavity squirmed suddenly, making Rukia regret her words almost instantly, she should have just left it alone. Feeling ashamed of her admission, she shyly brings her head up to look at him, he had time to adjust his countenance so she did not see any difference.

Byakuya observes her, and several things are brought to his attention.

Her still too thin frame, her forced relaxed stance, the light shadows under her eyes, the minuet trembling oh her hands. A sadness is laced in her expression, a deep depression haunts her amethyst eyes, but most importantly so does a stubborn edge of sharp strength, however muted it was at the moment Byakuya was careful to notice it. He closes his eyes to gather his thoughts, Rukia doesn't move from her place, she watches him nervously.

After what seems like an eternity his eyes open, revealing stormy grey irises.

"The sun will rise soon" he says, adding more fresh words to the now unfamiliar situation.

Another new step in the old dance between them.

Rukia takes a moment to look behind him; indeed the night was beginning to show the signs of receding into morning.

He turned slightly, and for a moment she thought he was going to walk away. If she didn't know any better she would think it was shy hesitation that laced through his next words.

"Come, an early breakfast and some tea will not be unwelcome…it may set you at ease" Rukia's eyes widened, expression unusually open with childlike surprise. She nodded, not quite aware that she was doing so. Byakuya regarded her carefully, gauging her reaction. Apparently satisfied he nodded to himself, and lead the way to somewhere where they could converse in peace.

"Thank you, Nii-sama" Rukia said shyly, before following behind him.

Her dark memories were slowly fading in the light of a new day.

ooooo

* * *

**A/N**: I tried something new with the way I formatted/organized this story. With the sections and stuff. I hope that the sudden realization that she was having a nightmare/memory/flashback the entire time didn't, like ruin it or anything. I would like feedback on how I wrote Rukia and Byakuya. Keep in mind that during her imprisonment Rukia was rather...depressed (and rightly so!) I hope I didn't make Rukia seem too needy or anything, she's my favorite character and one of the things I love about her is her strength even in times of weakness.

As for the ending...I couldn't help it, I'm a sucker for the Kuchiki siblings and their moments. And I wanted to end it on a hopeful note.

I just thought that a piece of Rukia is still in that jail cell, because for some reason the idea that the whole execution fiasco didn't affect her at all bugged me. Maybe it isn't something that others can see,after all, she's a rather reserved person when it comes to deep matters…

I wanted to explore some of the darker depths of her memories while she was imprisoned and this is what resulted of it. I made a lot of connections to things as I was writing that I never really thought of before. Like how her chair was facing the wall when she was in the division 6 cell. I almost didn't have that section about Sode No Shirayuki...but I decided to keep it in.

Also I dropped some hints of agoraphobia (fear of open spaces) and of claustrophobia(fear of enclosed spaces). The bird thing from when she was in the tower is derived from a picture of one of the chapter covers from the SS arc but I'm not sure which one exactly, but the anime has a scene like that too I think. She's sitting there with a bird on the ledge of the window. I was looking at some pictures, Rukia seriously is small enough to fit through the window from the tower. And I think Ukitake comments in the anime that she lost weight. I also took some liberty with the collar, I don't think it was really ever stated but in this story (and ok I'll admit it in my headcannon) it was a seal of her powers. And in case you don't remember the sekki sekki is a stone that totally leeches spiritual pressure.

I think that covers most of the explanations, but if you have ANY questions please feel free to ask ^_^

_**Please review!**_ I hope you enjoyed this.

I couldn't think of a better title :I


End file.
